Brittany S Pierce's Meaning of Life
by CheshireRyan
Summary: The only really important thing in the end is that you're happy with yourself. Glimpses of Brittany's life after becoming a paramedic and parent.


**Disclaimer: Dude, I don't own _Glee._ DUH.**

**A/N:** This is for Mia because I promised her Paramedic Brittany and squeamish Santana. And it sort of mutated from that into this. If any of you want, I can add random snippets, otherwise this one's done.

Hope y'all enjoy.

* * *

_2015_

"What're you looking at, Britt-Britt?" you ask, arms wrapping around my shoulders. I smile and lean back, pointing a finger at the picture in my textbook. It's a picture of a baby crowning and a paramedic's hands ready to catch as the mother pushes.

"Gynie," I say. You make a weird noise and I look up at you to see your disgusted face. "Oh come on, Santana. That's not even the grossest thing in here." I flip through the pages to show you a particularly gruesome evisceration (though, aren't _all_ eviscerations gruesome?). Your face gets a bit more creeped out and you shake your hand. "And this one is way worse." I flip to a picture of a man with a broken pelvis where the captions read about how blood leaking out of the penis is unique to pelvic trauma. The worst part of the picture is the fact that his balls are swollen and purple and _huge_.

"Jesus, Britt. How the hell do you learn all this shit?" You say, moving away from me and closing your eyes as you sit down. "That's fucking nasty."

"Well, there was a call last week where this guy got decapitated after passing out on the train tracks. That was pretty bad. My books are pretty tame compared to that." You swallow hard and I realize that you're trying not to puke. Oops. My bad. "So, I should probably change the subject, huh?" You nod, pinching the bridge of your nose. I close my books and take them back to the desk we crammed into our tiny living room. "How was your day?"

* * *

_2021_

I flop down on the bed, still dressed in my bra and cargo pants. I'm exhausted and tired and I just don't want to do anything today. I just got off a week on and now I get a week to myself and I just want to lie here in bed with you and snuggle. No alarms or smoke or heart attacks or car accidents. Just you and me and the pillows.

You chuckle and I can hear you put your book down before you move half on top of me, wrapping your arm around my waist and kissing my collar bone. "Tough week, baby?" I hum in the affirmative and close my eyes as you trace your fingers over my abs. I love my job as a firefighter-paramedic, but it's exhausting. Especially on the week of the Fourth of July where everyone and their mother has decided that they are a pyrotechnic master or brilliant chef when it comes to the grill. Or is just a drunken mess playing baseball.

Your fingers play with the St. Michael and Florian medals that hang around my neck - gifts from your abuela a year ago. It had taken a long while for her to start talking to you again, longer for her to acknowledge my existence. But then there was that family dinner where I gave her the Heimlich and all was well. I'm her favorite granddaughter-in-law now.

"I missed you," I mumble. You kiss my chin and I run my hands over your shoulders, wishing I were around more often. But I love what I do and you deal with my absences pretty well compared to the rest of the guys on my crew. Half of them are divorced or jump between girlfriends constantly. Daisy and I, the only two women on our crew, are lucky. Her husband is a great guy, supportive and pretty funny from what I remember of the last cookout we all had. And you're just amazing. There are days where I stress out a lot and I know you do too. You have a year left to go with your doctorate program, getting ready to throw some knowledge down on unruly co-eds.

"I love you so much," I whisper. I open my eyes and smile at the sight of you with your reading glasses sliding down your nose. You have that blush on your cheeks that you always have when I tell you I love you.

"I love you too," you say, moving to straddle my hips. Your lips take mine gently, then you bite my lip and I grin widely. "I love you so much."

* * *

_2022_

Just because I've helped deliver babies at work doesn't mean I'm ready to look between your legs while you have ours. I'm not entirely sure I'd ever be able to go down on you again if I did. It's one thing when it's other women, another thing entirely when it's your wife. There's a cry and the doc lets me cut the umbilical cord and I hold her in my arms, grinning widely. If I were to give her an _APGAR_ score, she'd get top marks. Perfect ten. I hand the bundled little wriggly thing to you and you grin tiredly, tears falling down your cheeks. I'm proud of you, so proud.

We're parents of a perfect little mess and I brush your sweaty bangs out of your face, kissing your forehead gently. I didn't know for sure if we'd ever make it this far, but I'm glad we have. And I know we can make it through anything if we've survived you getting your doctorate and my job this long.

* * *

_2032_

"Oh shit," I groan. "I _so_ do not want to get up right now." But I really don't have a choice. There are little feet running around and laughing and shouting and I groan again, rolling over to stick my face into the pillow. You rub a hand over my shoulders, laughing quietly.

"You're the one who decided that having five was a good idea, Britt-Britt."

"Did not," I protest meekly. "It's not my fault the triplets were triplets. I didn't technically knock you up." Our bedroom door flies open and two blondes and three brunettes race to our bed. Valerie looks like a miniature you, like the you I met in kindergarten, mild-mannered and adorable even if she's ten now. Jory looks like me and acts like you. And the triplets, Jaime, Davin and Mari, are sort of a mishmash both looks and personality-wise. A ten year old, a seven year old and three five-year olds. What the hell were we thinking?

I grunt when Jory knees me in the gut. He smiles sheepishly, patting my stomach for a minute before poking his older sister and whispering.

"Secrets don't make friends, dude," I say. Val-Pal gets a look on her face and I know she's going to have one of her rare sassy moments.

"That's true, Mom, but friends make secrets." She grins and Jory laughs. "Duh."

I growl and sit up with an oof, pushing them both down onto the mattress and tickling them. I love my weeks off, spending them with the six loves of my life. I look up at you when I finally have mercy on our oldest devils and you have this look in your eyes that warms my heart. I lean across the two triplets in your lap and kiss you soundly, earning loud _eeeeews_ and giggles from our goons.

"Shut up," I say. That earns a few_ oooohs_ and a pinch from you. "I'm busy with your Mamí."

* * *

_2034_

It's the day before Halloween and I'm suited up. For once, I'm not working, so I'm helping you with the triplets' classroom party. Davin and Mari have begged me to come in with my gear on, so they could match me with their costumes. You, of course, thought it was adorable, so I agreed to it.

The little kids are busy being blindfolded and having their hands dipped into bowls of cold spaghetti and peeled grapes (worms and eyeballs) and they're squealing and swapping candy and I realize that you look kind of off. I move to you, excusing myself from my conversation with the teacher. Your face is sort of starting to get red and I can hear you breathing raggedly and that's when I notice the foil candy wrapper next to you. Oh _shit_.

I move you out of the classroom quickly, not wanting to freak the kids out and ask one of the moms to grab your purse for me. I unscrew the cap of your epinephrine injector and press it against your thigh, counting in my head for ten seconds. The mom who helped me had called 911, so I brushed my fingers through your hair as you rested your forehead against my shoulder, keeping you calm while we waited. Your breathing is still ragged, but calmer and I press a kiss to your forehead as a few guys I know from the other shift make their way down the hall towards us with a stretcher.

I call Daisy, asking her to get our brood from school and keep an eye on them while we get you checked out. I hold your hand as we walk out to the rig. On the ride in, we have to inject you again. We don't get home until about ten and the kids are camped out in the living room, having fallen asleep waiting for us. I kiss you, helping you up to our bedroom. Your legs are always shaky after an episode and I really don't want to have to take you back to the hospital for cracking your head open attempting to climb the stairs.

"I'll be back," I mumble, before heading downstairs. I pick up Jaime and Davin, carrying them gently to their bedroom and tucking them in. I head back for the other three, nudging Val-Pal and Jory awake so they can wander off to bed. I pick Mari up and finish tucking her in before heading back to you.

"I feel like shit," you grumble, half-asleep. I hold you to me, not willing to let you go until I have to.

"You are never allowed candy ever again," I mutter into your hair. I refuse to lose you to a stupid nut allergy. You're sticking around for as long as I do. Leaving early is _not_ allowed.

* * *

_2044_

I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to say in this conversation. Davin is flunking out of school and I don't know if I can proclaim the benefits of a high school diploma with a clear conscience. I didn't get one, after all. I got tired of the bullshit at McKinley about a third of the way into my second senior year and dropped out, getting my GED and taking a basic EMT class at the community college. And our kids know this, so I don't know how to do this without sounding like a hypocrite...

"D, you've gotta graduate school," you say. His arms are crossed and he's glaring at the table in front of him. I sigh and lean back in my chair. "It's really hard nowadays to get anywhere without a high school diploma. And getting your GED is actually harder, so if you're doing this so you just don't have to go to school, you're going to be in a world of surprise."

I bite my lip before speaking up. "Mamí's got a point, dude. Yeah, you can get somewhere if you want without high school, but you need a _plan._ You come up with a plan and I will fully support you. Otherwise, go to class and take notes and ask for help. We'll even get you a tutor if you need one."

"Okay," he sighs, deflating slightly. He looks like you when you feel vulnerable and I move to wrap my arms around him in a hug. It takes a moment before his arms wrap around me, squeezing tightly. You mess up his hair a bit and kiss my cheek when we pull apart before heading into your office.

"So, what do you think you want to do?"

"I wanna be like you, Mom. I wanna be an EMT and help people. Triangles and Venn Diagrams aren't helping anyone." I smile widely, understanding completely. I had the same feelings growing up. Because seriously, who the fuck even uses triangles other than math-type people? I leave him with a piece of paper and pen, telling him to research what he wants to do. He can figure out what all he needs to get in order to do what he wants and then he can decide.

When I get to your office, I wrap my arms around you, nibbling on your earlobe gently as you stare out the window. You lean back into me, sighing and tracing shapes on my forearms. It's a quiet moment. The other two triplets are still at school, our oldest two at college and the police academy. And Davin's downstairs, looking up what I told him to do (hopefully).

"Are we doing the right thing?" you ask, not sounding sure.

"I dunno," I say. Did my parents do the right thing when they stood by and watched me drop out? I was eighteen then, two years older than Davin, so they didn't have much say in it. But they didn't try to stop me either... "I think we might be."

"Good," you say. "I just want him to be happy." I think that's what all parents want, essentially. For their kids to be happy and healthy and not starve to death. Though, that might just be your mother freaking out over everyone being too skinny or whatever. But, the point is, I think all parents want their kids to be happy. You don't ever bring a kid into the world with the hope that they'll be miserable. That'd be sadistic and mean and you might as well have just not gotten pregnant.

* * *

_2052_

As we watch Valerie get her book-thing with her doctorate in it, I look down the row at the chairs we occupy. Everyone looks proud and happy and excited even though we've been here for an hour or so, waiting for the ceremony to hurry up so we can cheer for her.

I think we've been good parents for the most part. They all turned out pretty well. There have been ups and downs and broken bones and broken hearts, but they're happy for the most part. Valerie is a super-nerd, all bio-chem and whatever at a lab. Jory is a cop, Jaime's a Marine, Mari's a kindergarten teacher and Davin is a firefighter-paramedic at my old station house.

They're healthy and happy and a couple are seeing people and one is married and I look at them and think _mission sort-of accomplished._ Because it's not done yet. I don't think parenting ever ends. Because they're gonna have kids and ask questions about having kids and that's sort of parenting by proxy, right? So, we're not done yet.

I look to you and smile at the little wrinkles around your eyes as you laugh happily. You have to wear your glasses all the time now and I never really had a thing for librarians before, but I definitely do now. Or maybe I just like you in glasses. Whatever. You have greying hair and I know mine is getting more white than blonde and you know what? I don't care. We're getting old, but we're happy and that's what matters. Being happy with your life. And I definitely am and last I knew when you told me this morning is that you are too. And that's the meaning of life.


End file.
